born to die - a clato drabble collection
by masonsaxes
Summary: A collection of Cato/Clove drabbles.
1. Not Anymore

**Hi there, loves! As an attempt at getting back into writing again, I decided to do a 100 drabble challenge for my one favorite ship here on earth. It's the same I'm doing on tumblr if any of you happen to know me from there. Feedback is appreciated. xx**

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_**DRABBLE NUMBER:** 1  
**PROMPT:** Baby  
**TITLE:** Not Anymore  
**GENRE:** Angst, Hurt/comfort  
**FIC SUMMARY:** Cato and Clove have won the games together and their lives are now controlled by the Capitol. A drunk husband and a screaming child wasn't what Clove wanted from life, and she is deeply unhappy with how things are, though she comes to discover that it might not be as bad as she thinks.  
**RATING**: Teen  
**WORD COUNT:** 2925_

The clock on the nightstand had just passed 3 at night, but Clove was still awake, staring at the changing numbers as the time slowly passed. She knew she should have been sleeping, grabbing at every ounce of sleep she could get, but she was still waiting for it to find her. Though it was hard to sleep with everything running through her busy, violent mind, and a baby in the other room who could start screaming every second.

As if the baby heard its mother's thoughts, as if on cue; she started wailing, loud wails that she knew would annoy her husband who was sleeping soundly at her side. Soundly maybe wasn't the right word for it; passed out seemed more fitting. Passed out after all the vodka he had been drinking all day. He reeked of alcohol and Clove had used to find it hard to sleep next to him when he was like this, but after a year of it, Clove simply didn't care anymore.

Though Cato seemed to be asleep, he stirred awake at the baby's loud, piercing wails, grunting almost as loudly as the child in annoyance. Clove turned her head to look at him, not feeling like stepping out of the bed to soothe their baby. She was tired. So tired of taking care of a baby, especially because she found it hard to care, so tired of being a mother, and especially because she didn't seem to have a maternal bone in her entire body, and also because she had never wanted to be one in the first place.

She waited a few seconds, still watching her husband slowly come out of his foggy haze of sleep, looking like hell had crashed down on him once he actually opened his eyes and seemed somewhat conscious. He looked around confused as if he couldn't locate where the sound was coming from, and rubbed his eyes roughly with his hand. "Clove," he growled lowly but harshly at her, his hand still covering his face. She noticed how his forehead was all scrunched up, as if he had a major headache, and knowing Cato and his drinking habits, he probably had. "Get the fucking kid." He didn't wait for her reply, or even wait with finishing his own sentence before attempting to push her roughly out of the bed.

Clove, who had learned to except everything from her short-tempered, violent husband, was somewhat prepared and gave a kick, aiming at his groin. She could hear his fast intake of breath but the lack off curses and growing anger suggested that she had hit somewhere less painful like the stomach or his thigh. Still, her kick had been on her way to fall out of the bed, as her husband seemed to had wanted so badly and she barely had the time to kick out her feet before landing somewhat clumsily on them on the soft carpet. She picked up her pillow, and threw it at him with all the force she could muster on her way out, hearing him huff at the impact. Before she stepped out the door, she hissed, "Asshole," at him loudly, the venom in her voice aiming to sting, but she knew nothing she said ever would.

Funnily enough, ironic really, tears were stinging her eyes after the more than normal exchange with her husband, something she had had to cope with quite a lot lately. It was actually a travesty, the fact that Clove sometimes couldn't hold the tears back when her upbringing stated so clearly that she should never cry. Ever. It showed weakness, and as a career, as a victor, she couldn't afford to be weak. But most of all it made her hate herself.

It had started with the pregnancy, and only gotten worse later on. During her pregnancy, the doctor had explained it as 'hormones' and told her they wouldn't bother her as much once she had given birth and when everything went back to normal. But Clove had waited, and waited, and now three months after having given birth to her baby girl, nothing had changed. She could still find herself crying at things she wouldn't have dreamed of crying about before. She didn't even know if she was crying because of something, or if she just cried to cry. But it bothered her more than anything and she thought gratefully how happy she was that Cato hadn't seen her like that. He had only seen her cry once, and that was the only time he was ever going to see, she had decided. Not that it would be a problem as her husband had paid more attention to booze than his wife lately.

She reached the baby's room, and made her way to her crib, clenching her jaw at the loud sound the child was making. Clove found it strange how such a small body could make that large of a sound, but it was even stranger how her heart seemed to unwillingly clench at the unhappy wail. She wanted the child to stop, not only because it was loud and annoying, but because she didn't want the child to have a reason to cry. Or maybe it was like it's mother and cried because of nothing.

The baby's official name was Gwendolyn, and Clove found it a horrible name to name a child. It was the Capitol's decision, where they had made a game out of what Clove would name her then unborn child, and they had voted and bet on what it would be. It had been like this ever since she and Cato had both made it out of the games, from the details of their wedding, to the decision that they would have a baby, to their social life, and even the furniture was carefully put in place by designers from the Capitol. It made her feel claustrophobic and helpless, but there was nothing Clove could do about it and she knew that.

But even if the baby's name was officially Gwendolyn, neither Clove or Cato called her that. To Clove she was simply 'the baby'. Not 'my baby', not 'my and Cato's' just, 'the baby', though she knew her husband liked to refer to her as 'the fucking kid'. It was no secret that becoming a father at the age of nineteen had been Cato's biggest nightmare, and he managed to remind her of it every single day.

Clove had to keep herself from snapping harshly at the child, having learned that it certainly didn't help when the goal was to calm her down. So as gently as she could, she picked up the baby and cradled her in her arms, like she had eventually figured out was the best way to hold the girl. It was frightening to Clove how small and fragile the baby was, how it wasn't able to protect itself against all the dangers of the world. Clove knew that it was her job, but so far all the dangers they had faced were slight hunger and a diaper needing to be changed, and it was not Clove's kind of danger.

She was bored with her life; she felt captured. She was like a bird who never was let out of it's cage, and longed for the feeling of air beneath her wings. She wanted to use her beloved knives, she wanted to fight and be the murderous warrior she had been brought up to be. Not this mess of a person with a baby she still didn't know how to truly care for. Clove probably never would either.

But most of all she missed her husband. Cato who had been her one and only, her lover and her enemy at the same time. Cato who did everything to get her fired up and then proceeded to kiss her because he liked her like that in bed. Cato who was abusive and infuriating and probably would have killed her on the spot if the rule change hadn't come along. She missed his annoying ways and furious outbursts. He had lost himself in the haze of alcohol, he didn't kiss her anymore, he didn't tease her, he didn't taunt her or play the twisted games he loved so much with her, and everything about him made her angry. And not in a good way.

Holding the still crying child, Clove considered walking back to her bed and taking the baby with so maybe they both would fall asleep. But she knew Cato would be against it and she wasn't in the mood for their abusive games tonight. Sighing, she sat down at the top of the stairs instead, not being bothered with walking all the way down them to sit in one of the many sofas and chairs downstairs.

Looking down at the baby, she tried to figure out why she was still screaming. Often the baby just needed to be held and would stop once she got picked up, but Clove suspected she was hungry, and moved to take off her loose tank top. It was easier that way, she had discovered, less things to concentrate on while she fed the creature. Though taking it off was easier said than done with a baby in her arms, and she used a good amount of time on doing it without accidentally hitting or hurting the child where she rested in her lap, her tiny feet kicking her mother in the stomach. She hadn't always been that careful doing things around the baby, and often she had to pay for it, having to listen to the baby's screams and cries.

Cradling the baby once again in her arms, she could feel her tiny mouth starting to search her mother's skin for the food she knew was there somewhere. Clove helped her, guiding her breast towards the baby's mouth, and then the familiar suckling started. It still felt strange to her, the feeling of having the child drink from her breast, like it was something she didn't deserve to experience.

There were still tears in Clove's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. It was beneath her, so far beneath her. The baby was looking at her with watchful eyes, and Clove stared right back. Clove couldn't even begin to understand what was going on in the baby's mind, what it thought and what it felt. And she didn't really want to know either, because she was sure that if the baby was able to form an intelligent thought, the thought would be how much of a horrible mother Clove was.

Was that what Clove was crying about? She tried to feel if that was the case, but she honestly didn't know. After a life of oppressing and ignoring every emotion except fury and that much-needed and praised blood-lust, Clove didn't know how to read her other emotions. She didn't even know how to identify them. She sighed once more, staring down at her baby, looking into it's blue eyes, those she had gotten from her father. She was so pure and innocent, but it was almost like Clove could feel it slipping away from her with every day she lived, with every time Clove laid her own murderous hands on the small child. "In ten years you're going to be just as fucked up as us," she told the baby softly, not sure what to feel about the matter.

She knew the baby would be reaped for the games, and Clove was going to make sure she was the best she could be because no child of hers was going to die in the arena. The thought was almost like a punch to her chest, taking her breath away for a second or two, and surprising her greatly. She really didn't want her baby to die.

Clove was suddenly aware of someone behind her, recognizing her husband's steps right away. She didn't turn around, she didn't say anything, simply continued to look down at the baby and watched as her drinking slowed down as she got fuller. Cato's side brushed hers as he sat down beside her, his large frame barely fitting beside hers at the top of the stairs. She still didn't look at him, she didn't really care to and for once she didn't feel like looking away from the baby. But most of all she didn't want her husband to see the tears burning in her eyes and which were alarmingly close to falling.

It was silent between them for a long time, like it usually was. Neither Clove and Cato were people of many words, and except from their bickering or fighting, they usually didn't talk. The baby didn't really seem to be drinking anymore either, she was just chewing with her toothless gums on her mother's breast and taking a sip of the milk every now and then.

Clove was content with the silence, but by the looks of it, her husband had other thoughts. Cato was the first one to break the silence, or at least to acknowledge the other by grabbing his wife's chin quite harshly, turning her head towards him and leaning in to place a kiss on her mouth. Usually that meant that he wanted something from her; sex, a favor, but he didn't actually get to the kissing part this time, not right away. His face stopped before hers, and she could see the hesitation and confusion flash over his face once he could see the tears that was still welling up in his wife's eyes.

All of a sudden the mood was completely changed around them and Clove despised the fact that she had just let him see her weak and vulnerable. Though almost as quickly as his confusion came, it went away and he kissed her roughly. Clove could taste the alcohol on his lips, his breath reeking still and he looked like he hadn't slept in months.

She looked slightly down as he broke the kiss, not wanting to see the look on his face. Instead she she cleared her throat, wanting to sound as much as her usual self as possible. "You look like hell," she told him harshly, but was annoyed her voice lacked it's usual venom. Cato grunted something incomprehensible in response, though she could feel his gaze on her still. Clove bit her lip and looked down at the baby, noticing she was no longer suckling at her breast, but instead watching her parents, mesmerized.

Clove guided her breast in her daughter's mouth once more, only for the baby to spit it out, which Clove had learned meant that she was full. She could feel Cato staring at her from beside her as well, and being so naked, even if it was in front of her husband who had seen her like this countless times, made her feel slightly uncomfortable. "Here," Clove simply said, handing him their daughter and giving him no choice. If he didn't take her, she would fall, possibly down the stairs even, and she really hoped Cato wasn't stupid enough to do drop her like that, even if he wasn't the biggest fan of his daughter or his wife for that matter. Clove just hoped he didn't hate the baby that much.

Cato protested but in the end had no choice, and let Clove place the baby in his arms. Or rather arm, being how Cato's arm was so large and the child so little, her head could fit perfectly in his hand and her body on his lower arm. Clove searched for the tank top she had thrown away, and quickly slipped it on, amazed to discover that Cato was watching the baby instead of his half-naked wife.

Again, it was silence. Clove liked it that way, but she also didn't know what to say to her husband because usually they only fought or bickered. But somehow this didn't seem like the right moment to pick a fight, and instead she wound up just looking at her husband and the child they were forced to have together, wondering why he still hadn't given her back to her once Clove's hands were free like he usually did whenever he a rare time had to hold her.

"She looks like you," Cato said eventually in a quiet voice, speaking as gentle as she had ever heard him. Clove searched his face confused, seeing his eyes still fixated on the baby. She cocked her head slightly, trying to see what Cato saw but failed. Except from the baby's black hair, the baby looked nothing like her; all Clove could see when she looked at her was Cato.

"She has your eyes," Clove said after a while, mirroring his quiet voice even though she found it strange and unfamiliar.

Cato looked at Clove then, seeming more sober than he had been in months as he wrapped his arm around his wife's waist and pulled her closer to him. She had never experienced something like it before, and it made her uncertain because Cato was harsh and brutal, and she didn't understand why he wasn't acting like it. Clove didn't understand Cato's intentions but eventually decided not to care, just for tonight, because even if it was unfamiliar and strange, it didn't feel bad.

And after a while she gave in to her own wishes, leaning into her husband, and resting her head on his shoulder. She could feel the deep sigh go through her husband's body as if it had gone through her own. "Yeah," he said slowly and Clove realized this was his way of showing that he cared. Brutal, murderous and slightly insane – yes, but a father and a husband all the same.

Clove didn't feel like crying anymore.


	2. Mine To Kill

_**DRABBLE NUMBER: **2  
**PROMPT: **Romance  
**TITLE: **Mine to Kill**  
GENRE: **Angst, Romance**  
FIC SUMMARY: **Clove and Cato are about to go into the games together, as lovers and as enemies, both sure they will be the one to kill the other. Though they meet the night before, and it is suddenly uncertain whether their lust for each other's blood is greater than their lust for each other.**  
RATING: **Teen  
**WORD COUNT: **1611**  
**_

Cato watched her watch the stars. The red dress she had worn in the interview was clinging to her tiny form where she sat on top of the railing, and fell around her delicately, beautifully even but also dragged on the ground behind her, making her look even smaller than usual. Though that didn't matter to Cato, who had always enjoyed the sight of Clove no matter what she wore, or didn't wear, that was.

She had yet to discover him where she sat with her feet dangling over the railing, he knew, being how he had just arrived the rooftop and was standing at least ten meters away. He had been looking for her, and he had found her exactly where he thought she would be. The sight of her mesmerized him, all the life and excitement seeming to pour out of her even from that distance, and it only compelled him to come closer.

It was after only a couple of steps that Clove noticed his presence, having gotten used to his silent appearances by now, and she turned her head to face him with a look of pure glee on her face. Though mixed with that child-like excitement was that usual spark of insanity; it showed in her ruthless smile and glimmered vividly in her green eyes. Cato grinned.

Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he grinned against the skin of the nape of her neck before straightening up and tightening his grip on her small form. He could feel her body respond to his and she was leaning into him instinctively, relaxing her body into her lover's. Clove was looking up at the stars again, something he knew had always fascinated her, but it didn't take long before lowly spoken words came from her.

"Are you ready to die, baby?" she asked him, her voice so soft in the, silky and slow but still taunting; insane. She laughed as softly as her words, but the cruel undertone struck him too, which was just another thing he enjoyed about the girl in his arms.

Cato grinned again, rolling his eyes even if she couldn't see him, and rested his chin on top of her head. "I should be asking you that," he said, mirroring the taunt in her voice, feeling her chuckle against him once more. It was dangerous, that chuckle, it meant death and cruelty and promised the same for everyone around her. But Cato had never been scared of death, and especially not of Clove. Not that he would ever let the little girl kill him.

"You're delirious," she told him, but this sounded more like a snarl, something which Cato was more than familiar with too. Though she was still playing her sweet, twisted little game of taunt, wanting to see how much she could rile him up before he lashed out.

Now it was Cato's time to chuckle, and he could hear the breath of annoyance it earned him. "Are you so sure about that, little girl?" he taunted, using a pet name which earned him an elbow jammed into his stomach, and he had to pause his words for a while. Then he kept on going, grinning still, knowing he had the upper hand. "All I would have to do is push you, and you would fall," he said, and he knew she was staring down at the ground far down in front of her, the night being so dark it was impossible to actually make out the ground.

"You w-" But as she begun to speak, Cato had already pushed her slightly forward and let go of her, only to grab her again before she could actually fall of the railing. It all happened in a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for Clove to give a surprised squeal, and for her to jump and flail to the realization that she was about to fall. It satisfied him, scaring her like that, though he knew she would find a way to get her revenge on him. She could keep grudges a lifetime if she had to, too bad her life was soon going to end.

Angry curses came from his lover's mouth, and she clung to his arms, his joke obviously having scared her. Clove spat the words at him harshly and continued to do so for a couple of minutes until it died out in a slight moan. Cato had started to kiss her neck slowly, busy with preserving her memory. He wanted to remember it all when she was gone; her smell, her taste, the feeling of her smooth skin against his. Everything.

Clove was suddenly quiet, and the only thing to be heard from her was her breathing, which was slightly faster paced than normal. Burying his face in the side of her neck, he breathed in her smell deeply. It had always been something Cato found slightly odd, the fact that she smelled so sweet when he always kind of expected her to smell like blood, or death or pretty much anything that wasn't that perfume-like scent.

Cato was worried he would forget. Of course he wouldn't forget the memories, the countless hours spent in his bed and even longer spent sparring and training together. But he was worried he would forget her; what she looked like when she was so furious she was seething, how she felt against him at night, the spark of mischief and insanity in her green eyes. He didn't want to forget, but he was still going to kill her.

To his surprise, he could feel Clove entangle her fingers with his. Then she kissed each finger, one by one, her lips lingering softly on his skin. And when she was done she didn't let their hands fall into her lap again, but rather pressed their joined hands against her body, against her chest so that he could very easily feel her beating heart.

Cato rested his cheek against hers, and they both fell into silence, the two of them watching the stars. Clove's grip seemed to tighten on him with every minute that passed, like she was trying to do some preserving of memories on her own. Not that he blamed her, because he knew Clove believed she was going home. The arrogant little girl thought she could kill him, but he would show her how it was done. He had promised himself to give her a worthy death, because she was Clove, his lover and his girl, and because he knew she would do the same for him, if she had miraculously somehow managed to kill him.

"Will you still watch over me when you're gone?" she asked him quietly, that usual insane humor of hers twinkling in her words, but beneath it laid something darker, something serious. She turned her head slowly, trying to look at him, her fingers still clenching around his, the beating of her heart increasing. And Cato more than willingly met her want, turning his head slightly so he could look at her too.

Her eyes were as green as always, but the thing he searched for but couldn't find was the spark of insanity that he always saw. It was replaced by a deep seriousness he had never thought Clove could possess, or thought capable between the two of them, but when he thought about it again, he could feel the same seriousness in himself too.

So Cato kissed her, deeply and firmly, his lips moving together with hers, the both of them melting into each other. But unlike their usual brutal, lustful kisses, this was needy and raw and tasted of loss, death and even of despair. Neither wanted to let go, because she was his, and he was hers, and in that moment nothing else mattered. Not the death that was waiting one of them, not worrying about forgetting. Just living, and breathing, and feeling the other press against them. That was all that mattered.

It was Cato who broke the kiss once something happened inside his chest that he couldn't quite understand. He looked at her, his forehead still pressed against hers, feeling her beating heart against his hand and her fast breath against his lips.

"Only if you'll watch over me," he eventually answered her, every ounce of taunt having disappeared from his voice. Clove leaned into him and kissed him so slowly it nearly pained him, her lips lingering softly on his. The gentle way their lips touched wasn't something they had experienced before, their kisses usually being brutal and harsh. But it was a kiss that said goodbye; I love you, you're mine, and I might even miss you when you're gone.

Her one hand cupped his cheek, the tips of her fingers playing with his hair, and she used the other one to press his hand against her chest. Cato mirrored her, his thumb caressing her cheek as gently as ever, tracing the line of her cheekbone. He could feel her fingers tighten around his hand, and her heartbeat fasten under his palm.

And then she pulled away, though never taking her bright green eyes away from his, like he wouldn't take his off hers. And that was his girl. Clove, the girl in his arms, she was his; his to kiss, his to fuck, his to kill. Irresistibly beautiful, so absolutely insane, horribly cruel and all his.

He would remember the way she had kissed him that night, the way her heart had beaten against his palm, and the way she had never let go of his hand.


	3. We'll Be Okay

_**DRABBLE NUMBER: **3  
**PROMPT: **Frightened  
**TITLE: **We'll Be Okay**  
GENRE: **Angst**  
FIC SUMMARY: **Clove has a nightmare about a very specific event from the Arena that her husband feels especially guilty for putting her through.**  
RATING: **Teen  
**WORD COUNT: **1866**  
**_

Cato was abruptly dragged out of his sleep when his wife kicked him in her sleep, tossing her body around in the bed they shared. His first thought was kicking her back, but he knew that it would do no good, especially when she was in that state. She was dreaming, Cato knew, or more correctly, having a nightmare. Her tossing and turning at night was something he was used to by now, but it wasn't often he could guess where it lead.

Often she would toss and turn all night, and that was all she would do until 5am when she wasn't able to sleep anymore. Other times she would wake up with a start, sit up in bed and look around her with wide eyes, before realizing where she was and that there was no danger. But some times, Clove would have nightmares so bad she wasn't able to tell reality from her mind once she woke up. Then she would scream and try fight him until he could eventually calm her down enough for her to see that he wasn't a threat.

He watched her through narrow, tired slits for a while, seeing the deep frown on her forehead and the way her mouth was set in a thin line, like he knew she always did when she was trying not to be scared. Even in her sleep, Clove was trying to fight the feeling of being afraid, and it was one of the many things Cato had to admire about his stubborn wife.

Cato eyed her suspiciously still, wanting to believe that this were one of those nightmares that didn't frighten her so badly she woke up, but he was starting to highly doubt it from her violent movements. He moved to wake her up, hoping calming her down wouldn't be a long affair because Cato really felt like going back to sleep. Though the second his hand clasped around her wrist, her eyes snapped open and before he could say anything soothing at all, a blood-curdling scream was leaving her mouth.

She desperately tried to get out of the grip, and as Cato went to grab her other wrist, her screaming only got louder. "Clove!" he shouted at her, trying to get her to hear him over her deafening shrieking, but had no luck getting through to her.

She was thrashing badly against him, trying to get loose. Cato couldn't see her eyes very well with how much she was moving, but he saw enough to know she was lost in her own mind. Clove was awake, but her mind was still in the nightmare that was one of the many that had tormented her after they escaped the games.

Cato tried to restrain her further, wanting to grab her by the arms and make her look at him, make her realize that what she was thinking, and feeling, and experiencing within her head, wasn't real. But she wouldn't let him do such a thing, and managed to kick him in the stomach, her screams becoming shriller. Now there were also tears streaming down her face, and Cato was slightly stunned by the sight. The surprise along with the kick to his torso was enough for him to lose his grip on her for the slightest second, which was an opportunity Clove used to jumped out of his grip and away from him.

Though instead of jumping towards the door, she had moved further into the room, and was pressing herself into the wall. Her eyes were open wide and she looked straight at him, wildly, the look in her eyes unrecognizable and insane. Cato knew it wasn't good when it came to this, and that he had to calm her down preferably before she did something stupid.

She had stopped screaming, though her body was still shaking where she was standing by the wall, her eyes frantically searching for an escape as he came closer. "No!" she yelled, fastening her gaze on him for a couple of seconds before it flickered towards the door again.

"Clove," Cato said, his voice firm and strong, but still not angry or threatening. He stepped towards her, watching her as she was looking at him, breathing so heavily her body shook with each breath. "Come on," he told her, holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm and also holding her gaze with his, taking another step closer.

"I'm not your enemy, Clove," he said knowing that deep down they weren't, not anymore at least. The both of them tended to act like the worst of enemies during the day, but at night when they both had nightmares, Clove more often than Cato, and their pasts began to haunt them, it became very clear that they were in fact lovers, husband and wife.

He could see a flash of recognition in her eyes, and she wound up just standing there, looking at him, her position suggesting that she was still ready to fight. Eventually she broke her aggressive stand and wrapped her hands around her small form, sliding down the wall and landing softly on the floor, wrapping her hands around her knees. As she buried her face in her knees, Cato crouched down beside her, a part of him curious about her nightmare, while the other was worried and maybe even slightly scared.

Just as he was about to say something, he could see her tilt her head to look at him. She looked slightly shaken still but the thing he noticed about her now was that she seemed one hundred percent utterly pissed off, as if he had done something to her that she wasn't yet ready to forgive. Her eyes were sharp and were glittering dangerously, her cheeks were flaming red like they always were when she was furious, and her jaw was clenched tightly together.

He watched her with a slight frown on his face, about to raise his eyebrows to silently ask her what was going on. But before he could get the message across, the small girl in front of him had jumped forward and slapped him hard across the face, the sound of flesh against flesh loud in their bedroom.

Now Cato was getting angry too, if not slightly surprised, and was about to strike back. Though he stopped himself when he saw her tear-filled eyes and quivering lip, catching her wrists instead which forced her to stop her retreating and he brought her closer to him. "What was that?" he demanded loudly, the anger in his voice seemed to resound around them.

Her eyes were stubbornly holding his, and she was biting down hard on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Cato's eyes flickered over her face, his grip so tight around her wrists he was sure she would have bruises when morning came. It took a while of their glaring, but eventually she broke the silence. "You know what," she spat at him harshly, or at least Cato knew she had meant her words to come out harsh. Though instead her voice sounded small and broken, and only a hint of her usual viciousness and pride was to be found.

But Clove was right though, he did know what. He knew exactly what her nightmare had been about now, and exactly why she had slapped him. Of course she had, he thought, she blamed him for letting Thresh almost kill her. Hell, Cato blamed himself for letting Thresh almost kill her. He hadn't had any control over the situation; it had all happened so fast and he knew that if he had been even a second late, Clove wouldn't have been there with him right now. He had promised to watch her back, and even if he had had her back, and even if he had saved her, Clove hadn't gotten over the near to death experience. Clove still hadn't gotten over how close to death she had actually been, and she kept having the same nightmares over and over.

It angered him that she thought it was his fault, especially since she had been the one insisting to kill fire girl in the first place. He glared at her, and harshly released his grip on her, throwing her away from him. "Whatever," he muttered, and stood up. Clove hit the wall but made no noise, probably not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her. If she had only known that he didn't get the same satisfaction from hurting her as he once had.

Clove was retracting to her previous position, and wrapped her arms around her knees once again, burying her face in them. He watched her for a couple of seconds, hesitating, conflicted whether he should try to comfort his wife or not. But he was still angry with her, and with himself too and eventually decided to retreat back to the bed. Though as he laid down, his eyes never left his wife's small, shaking form. Clove was crying, he knew, and he knew how ashamed she felt because of it. Him being there, comforting her wouldn't make it any better either. It would just make her angry, he had made that mistake before and wasn't doing it again.

Cato sighed and decided to go back to sleep, closing his eyes and knowing Clove would come to bed when she was ready. Minutes passed, maybe even an hour or two before he could feel her creep into bed beside him again. He opened his eyes to look at her, and saw she was avoiding his gaze on purpose.

He had to roll his eyes at the ever so stubborn woman he had married who made a rather big number out of laying down as far away from him as possible, and then turning around so the only thing he could see was the tangle of hair on the back of her head. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes yet again, and went back to attempting to fall asleep.

It wasn't long after he had closed his eyes he could feel his wife moving beside him, inching towards him slowly. He kept his eyes closed, knowing it was easier for her to seek comfort in him if she thought he was asleep. He could feel her hesitate beside him, hearing her still frightened breath hitch slightly. Though eventually Clove put her head on his shoulder, and buried her face in his neck. Pressing her body into his, she draped her hand over his broad chest, hugging him tightly.

Cato let a small grin of triumph show on his face at her sudden change of mood, finding that he was enjoying her up close presence. His hand fell in place around her waist, squeezing her body closer to him and he could feel her body react to his, relaxing into him. Clove let out a long breath of relief, sighing in content into her husband's neck and Cato kissed the top of her head softly, breathing in his wife's scent.

"It's okay," she mumbled against him. "We'll be okay."


End file.
